


Playing Chicken

by Sapphixxx



Series: The Overwatch Home for Underloved Ships [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Pharah and Zarya are bros, Slow Burn, working out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphixxx/pseuds/Sapphixxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a gal<br/>She had a pal<br/>Can I make it any more obvious?</p><p>Pharah and Zarya's relationship as they start as work-out buddies, eventually becoming closer without ever really realizing it.</p><p>Sapphixxx.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

No matter how firmly Fareeha Amari believed in the revival of Overwatch, everything leading up to the first mission filled her with doubt.  
The recall notice itself had been cause for concern, and, as it turned out, was unfortunately indicative of what was to come in the following weeks. She had always believed, deep in her heart, that Overwatch wasn’t gone for good. Some day, maybe soon, maybe in a few decades, it would rise again. The people who joined Overwatch weren’t cut from common stock, after all. They were all seemingly purpose-made for heroism, and surely couldn’t just retire into obscurity sipping drinks on a beach somewhere. But in every fantasy and sober consideration of what a reformed Overwatch would look like, Fareeha never once imagined it would look the way it did: an email nestled in her spam folder, between dubious claims of there being horny Russian women near her, and a newsletter update from a website she’d stopped reading years ago. Inside the message was an attached video of Winston making an impassioned plea for any and all past and hopeful Overwatch members to join him in fighting the new evils that plagued the world.

  
It probably would have been more inspiring if it hadn’t stopped to buffer four times throughout.

  
By the timestamp, the message had sat untouched for a little over a week before she found it, and it was a few days more until she could bring herself to respond. The organization she had known was, well, in general more professional than what looked like a hasty webcam capture. Even if this was legit (and with cg as good as it was, it may very well have not been), did Winston have a plan? Would they have anywhere to stay? Would they have money for weapons and transport, or facilities to maintain the highly specialized tools that most Overwatch members used? Had any government agencies been contacted?  
At the end of the day, though, joining Overwatch had been her dream since childhood. When a chance at that dream lands in your lap, you take it. And, quite frankly, even if it did just end up being a handful of the old crew getting drunk and telling stories in some abandoned warehouse somewhere, that would still be worth it. The soldiers and officers of Overwatch had been like a family to her growing up, and she could do with a reunion.

As it turned out, the reality of the recall was depressingly close to her prediction. When she arrived at the old watchpoint in Gibraltar, the only ones there to greet her were Winston, Reinhardt, and Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton—a younger woman who had joined shortly after Fareeha had left to join the Egyptian military. The welcome she received was as warm as expected, with Reinhardt crushing her into a hug immediately and babbling about how much she’d grown, and Winston and Lena ecstatic to see another person respond to the call. When Fareeha asked Winston about what her first mission would be, though, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled that he’d get back to her about that.

Those first few weeks could have easily been dispiriting if it hadn’t been the most fun and relaxation Fareeha had gotten since she was a kid. During the days she’d help repair the jets that had left to grow dusty in the base’s hanger, at night drinking cheap beer and swapping war stories with Reinhardt. Or, more accurately, she would tell most of one, and then old Willhelm would be reminded up something and start booming out another tale that would turn into three others. On any other man it would have been grating, but the old bastard was just too sweet and excitable. Like a seven-foot tall puppy. And so what if all they had was peanut butter, ramen, and wilted, bruised, bargain-bin vegetables? She got to let her guard down, and she had her own room. More than she could say for her time in the military. Not that she stayed there often. As it happened, Lena was very good at convincing her to share her bed.

Their first mission together felt more like a high-school roadtrip than the kind of high-stakes inernational intrigue that Overwatch was best known for. A grassroots human-supremacist group in France had been making the news after making good on their promises to start making attacks on the meeting places of the Omnic populace. The jets were still out of commission, and even if they weren’t, there was no way in hell any of them could have afforded to buy fuel for them. What was in their budget, however, was a beat-up old station wagon with a cracked windshield and complaining second gear. This humble vehicle, weighed down by two giants, two adult women, and hundreds of pounds of armor strapped to the top, took them from Gibraltar to Annecy, where they successfully beat back several attacks over the course of a week. When they apprehended the ringleaders of the group and turned them into the authorities, news groups flocked to interview them. When asked breathlessly whether this signaled a revival of Overwatch, Fareeha only gave a coy smile and responded in halting French “We’re just a few people trying to do the right thing”

That clip went viral, and pretty soon every recall notice that had gone ignored was responded to. Within two months, the base was comparitively bustling with close to a dozen new arrivals. Some were familiar, like Angela and Jesse, who had been like an older brother and sister to Fareeha growing up. Or, at least, Angela had felt like an older sister until it got too weird thinking of the woman whose cleavage she stared at as a sister. Jesse teased her endlessly for her childhood crush on Angela, and thus stayed firmly in the older brother category. Others were new, strange, faces to Fareeha, though, including a Brazilian d.j., a Korean child soldier, and a Bastion unit with a pet bird. Even if the base still echoed with every footstep and the bunks were so empty that nearly everyone could take a whole room for themselves, the personalities of those present filled the base with more passion than Fareeha had ever known before.

This afternoon had been their first real mission as a team. With the funding that Lucio and Hana brought on board they could finally afford fuel for the jet, and were able to intercept a small Talon detachment on Ilios from kidnapping local researchers and stealing the archaeological data that had recently been uncovered.  
Fareeha’s heart swelled as she walked into the shower-room of their temporary holdout on the island. Spirits were high, laughter filled the muggy air, and Lena was chasing Hana attempting to whip her with a rolled up towel. All of the concerns that ate at her confidence during all those weeks of stale beer and ramen were washed away that day. They had new blood, new purpose, and if today was any indication they were shaping up to be a formidable fighting force.

Her reverie was broken, however, when a thickly accented voice called out to her,

“Amari! Does your Raptora suit have hollow bones, like bird? It would explain how easily you get swatted out of sky!”

Fareeha turned on her heel, grimacing, to find an enormous Russian woman sprawled languidly out one of the benches like a predatory cat. Aleksandra Zaryanova was the most recent arrival, having met the team on the island when they arrived. While Fareeha had seen her on the holo years prior when she was still a championship lifter, she knew little of the woman, and had so far had no chance to feel her out.

While it was true she had required field repairs on several occasions to continue fighting, who could blame her! She was used to facing off against gormless Omnics and underpaid mercenaries, not the kind of ruthless fighters Talon employed. But Fareeha bit back the defensive retort, reminding herself of her promise to try and be more personable with her comrades. And judging by Zaryanova’s toothy grin, the comment was probably made in jest. Well, two could play at that.

“At least I don’t have to rely on those ridiculous bubblegum shields of yours. Really, Aleksandra, they look like the stuff Hana is always chewing on.”

Apparently she responded to the jab correctly, as Zarya let out a deep belly laugh that seemed to reverberate across the whole shower.

“What can I say? It is hard to care about appearances when I know that I can bench this whole team aaand probably most of enemy on top. Everyone but weird pig man, that is.”

Despite herself, Fareeha felt a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. There was something magnetic about the giant woman that she was beginning to feel. But, she supposed that it was to be expected of an international celebrity. As she started to strip out of her flight suit, she continued the banter,

“I don’t know, are we talking in or out of armor? Even just Tracer’s accelerator is surprisingly hefty, without accounting for Reinhardt’s suit.”

When no answer was forthcoming from the Russian, Fareeha quickly chastised herself. Talking about the weight of equipment, really? Is that the best you can do? But when she looked up, now fully freed of clothing, Aleksandra was staring, eyes wide. Fareeha felt herself wilt a little, blushing under the scrutiny.

“Damn…Amari where have you been hiding,”  
Aleksandra just mouthed silently, gesticulating vaguely at Fareeha

“All of this.”

Fareeha stared back dumbly.

“Excuse me?”

“I had assumed you were skinny twig under that armor like tiny Korean girl or pretty doctor. But I am… Pleasantly mistaken.”  
Aleksandra was grinning broadly again, eyes running up and down Fareeha’s naked body. Fareeha spluttered, searching desperately for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Despite herself, she gave a lopsided smile and laughed, feeling the warmth of pride washing over her.

As the Russian woman rose to leave, Fareeha felt disappointment tug at her heart. It was quickly dismissed though, when Aleksandra looked over her shoulder  
“We shall work out together then, soon.”

~

“Better stand back, Amari, these pipes are about to burst!” growled Zarya through clenched teeth. Fareeha could only stare in incredulous horror as the Russian behemoth bicep curled a 95kg weight in her left hand, puffing all the while, her face contorting to express seemingly every possible emotion. Slowly setting her own barbell back on the rack and leaning against the wall to get a better view, Fareeha felt all of a sudden hopelessly inadequate in comparison to her friend. And yet, she also felt a swelling of pride, or something close to it, that she got to witness this sight.

Even as Aleksandra struggled through her last rep, face flushed, shining with sweat, eyes squinting and face screwed up in effort, it struck Fareeha just how breathtaking this woman is. Even with over a decade of military experience, she had never met anyone so dedicated to their own body, to pushing the limits of what the human machine is capable of. It made her knees go a little weak just considering that kind of strength.

“What, no applause?” Zarya challenged, as she flopped back on the bench, eyes closed, chest heaving.

“Sorry, Aleksandra, I guess it’s just hard to get excited when I know that isn’t even the best you can do.”  
Managing a low sardonic laugh through the exhaustion, Zarya raised one hand weakly with middle finger raised.

“Aww, don’t be like that, you know it’s just because I want the best for you.” Fareeha laughed, strolling over to her friend’s bench to squat next to her and offer a bottle of water which Zarya immediately snatched and gulped greedily from.

“For real though, how do you do this? Before I joined Overwatch I thought I was pretty strong but you are just…So…” Fareeha paused, brows knit as she tried to find an adequate descriptor.

“Big?” Zarya offered, raising one eyebrow smugly.

“Well, yeah! What is your secret?”

Aleksandra considered the question for a moment, before shifting herself to make room for Fareeha on the narrow bench. As Fareeha settles down next to her, she slowly began to speak.

“The way I see it, Amari, there is no secrets to this. Every month there is some hot shot on internet making claims about shortcuts and ideal routines. But in my home there was no scientist checking my form or making me eat special diet. I had big rocks to carry and a bowl of oats every morning.There just came a day when I was little girl helping bring in firewood, and I notice that I can only carry one piece, or two, where my father can heft a dozen or more. I didn’t like that.”

As she related the story, her face took on a soft contemplative expression that Fareeha had never seen before. Admittedly, in their short friendship there were few situations Fareeha had seen her where she wasn’t focused on a battle or talking shit during down-time. But something about it felt like seeing this was a rare and privileged occasion. Aleksandra was silent for a moment as she rearranged herself, leaning forward onto her knees. Fareeha briefly noted the firm warmth of her friends’ thigh against her own, but quickly dismissed the distracting thought from her mind.

“So I decide, hey, I never want to feel that way again—that I’m less capable than someone else. Or that I cannot help as much as I could. The next day I picked up a rock by my school, and tried to lift it until I couldn’t anymore. I was sore for a week! But it felt so good, and I knew that I wanted more of that feeling. So I kept doing it. And then, well, here we are.”

Aleksandra looked at Fareeha, eyes bright with earnest nostalgia, before suddenly turning away, seeming a little embarrassed, her usual catlike grin returning.

“Sorry for the mushy story, I do not know what came over me. That’s it, though, if you love something, there is no need for secrets. Just devotion.”

“So...If I am hearing you right, if I want to get bigger I just need lots of wood and a Napoleon Complex”

Aleksandra barked out a laugh, before putting Fareeha in a headlock and grinding her knuckles against her skull. Fareeha squawked in surprised laughter, squirming helplessly in the larger woman’s grasp. As their laughter died down and they separated, Fareeha found Aleksandra still staring at her, with an expectant grin. Suddenly overcome with a wave of self-consciousness, Fareeha immediately turned her gaze to the floor.

“So…Uh, same time on Friday?” she mumbles, making as if to leave. Aleksandra laughs again, clapping her on the back and rising with her.

“Don’t be silly Amari. Okay, here’s another secret. You got to treat your body just the same as you treat the body of any other woman. You do not have your fun and leave. She needs to be taken care of!”

Fareeha stared dumbly at the Russian.

“What I’m saying is, come to my room. We’ll eat something, cool down a little. I think we’ve earned it! Or at least I have. Maybe you don’t after giving up to admire how well I was crushing it.”

Letting out a snort, Fareeha punched her friend in the bicep and followed her down the hall.

~

“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK?” yelled Aleksandra over the screaming of guitar and unintelligible Slavic shouting that was blasting from the speaker system beside her bed.

“I UH, LIKE THE…PASSION?” Fareeha shouts in response, with an unconvincing smile on her face.

Turning down the music slightly, Aleksandra looks back a little sheepishly. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. Russian punk isn’t for everyone, especially the hardcore stuff they were doing in the 60’s.”

“No, no! I don’t dislike it. I think I just don’t get it yet.” Fareeha reassured, “I mean, from the eight words I could make out it sounds pretty tailored to what people were going through at the time. And I really respect that. My favorite music comes from the turn of the century when Egypt was still in a really uncertain place. Certainly makes a more compelling story than listening to yet another dude whine about not getting his dick wet.”

Aleksandra snorted at that, and stretched back out on the couch they were sharing, resting her head on Fareeha’s thigh. As the final track on the album stopped abruptly, Aleksandra spoke up again,

“To be fair, when I was getting into this music, I didn’t really know much about politics. Mostly I was just going through a…” she chuckled sardonically, and grimaced in mock-horror, “just a little bit of a phase.”

“Let me guess, dyed fringe, lots of spikes?”

“You have no idea Amari,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “It was pretty bad. But we all did that when we were kids, right?”  
Fareeha rolled her eyes, shrugging. “Sorry Aleks, I was too busy having sex with girls and disappointing my mother to have any phases, letalone find the time to dye my hair.”

At this, Aleksandra shifted her head off of Fareeha’s thigh to raise herself up to shove the Egyptian’s shoulder.

“Come on Fareeha, no way you don’t have some embarrassing story! If you don’t tell me, maybe I’ll just have to ask little miss Angela, hmm?”

Blanching at the suggestion, Fareeha shoved Aleksandra in turn before relenting,

“Okay, okay…” she fell silent for a moment, face taking on a grave tone.

“I…”

Aleksandra leaned in expectantly, and Fareeha closed her eyes.

“Was really into mecha anime” she finally admitted.

Aleksandra’s eyes widened, and her grin quickly grew to an alarming size. Fareeha felt her face grow red hot, and she immediately regretted ever speaking to this woman. The giant Russian folded her arms and bounced in her seat slightly like an excited schoolgirl.

“So…Tell me, when you’re flying up there in battle, do you think of your cartoon theme songs?”

“I don’t need to put up with this kind of abuse!” Fareeha stood and threw up her arms in mock exasperation, but Aleksandra immediately leapt up to wrap her in her arms and drag her back down onto the couch, laughing uproariously the whole time.

“You are so sensitive, like little girl! I can’t believe this is a hardened soldier I’m talking to.”

“Okay, look, let me just,” Fareeha squirmed in her friend’s grasp before managing to wriggle her phone out of her pocket, “here. I’m gonna show you one episode, and maybe you’ll get it”

“Haha, okay, deal.”

Truth be told, Fareeha did cringe internally a little as she hit play on the episode she was thinking of. She had forgotten just how loud and overdone the intro amv was, and how goofy the premise was out of context. But as she settled into Aleksandra’s arms and let the episode play, she forgot all about her self-consciousness, and let her heartstrings get pulled right along with the high-flying action and overwrought drama.

As the emotional climax came to a head, with the assumed protagonist sacrificing his life to pass the torch to his scrawny protégé, she briefly wondered if the impact would be lost without the buildup of the prior episodes. That worry was swept away immediately, though, as she felt something wet begin to drip into her hair. As she craned her head to look up, she found Aleksandra with a stricken expression on her face, tears streaming from her eyes. She looked down at her, forlorn and pleading.  
Fareeha gave her a teasing grin, and shimmied up to hug her friend’s face into her shoulder.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha eats a peach and it is Not Okay

For two weeks now, Aleksandra had been deployed back in her home country of Siberia. In many ways, it should have made her comfortable. Her native language flowed off of her tongue more fluidly than English ever would, she got to have good lamb pelmeni and kholodets for the first time in years, and everywhere she went, people knew her name. Every time she would go drinking after a mission, it felt like she was some kind of old-fashioned medieval folk hero—booze and food was plentifully shared around packed tables of boisterous people clamoring to hear tales of her might and derring-do.

Fame was not unfamiliar to her, of course. From the age of sixteen she had been in the public eye. First for breaking world records in weightlifting, then, later, for fighting on the front lines against the Omnic scourge. Having grown up reading tales of clever heroes like Ilya Muromets and Lyudmila Pavlichenko, this well-earned fame felt very comfortable to her. The delighted cries of a crowd or the simple wide-eyed adulation of a child she had inspired filled her heart with purpose. Everybody needed someone to look up to, someone to be inspired by. Why should it not be her? Better, she thought, than another stinking man who turns out to be a drunkard and a batterer of women like all the rest.

And yet, even though she was still breathlessly asked for an autograph or an interview at least twice a day, she was not quite comfortable in her homeland. She ruminated on the feeling for days. At first she thought it may just be the simple shock of comparing nostalgic memories with the reality of how things in rural Siberia had or hadn’t changed. But as sad as it was to see, it was something more closely personal. Then she began to worry that she was becoming disconnected from her people after spending so much time away. But as she spent more time reconnecting, those friendships and familial bonds felt as strong as ever. And then, finally, she realized it had something to do with her new comrade, Fareeha Amari. She made her feel _small_. Obviously she was much larger and stronger than Fareeha, and could fight alongside her as an equal. And yet, something about the surly Egyptian woman disarmed her. Like no matter how big she was, it wasn’t big enough. However clever she was wasn’t clever enough. Not enough to inspire her, or impress her. It felt like being a little girl again, when she could only carry a single log.

Usually when someone looked up to her, they looked _far_ up, as if marveling at the colossus of Greek myth. By now there was a comfortable pattern to humoring admirers. She would allow them to work out with her, or spend time with her outside the usual round of drinks and stories. They would bask in her glory, absorb some of the inspiring strength she exuded, and be on their way. It was an arrangement that suited everybody’s purposes. She felt good, they felt as though they had rubbed elbows with a legend, everybody went home happy. But Fareeha stayed long after most had gone, and seemed to have no intention of straying elsewhere. When Fareeha looked up at her with those inscrutable black eyes, she did not look as if she were beholding an impossible colossus. Instead, she was looking only fifteen centimeters up, at a mere woman.

This was unfamiliar ground to Aleksandra. She knew what to do with being admired, she knew how to be the pillar of a fighting force. But what was Fareeha _getting_ at? What could she do for her if she wasn’t impressing her? It was all she could do to tease and poke at the usually stoic woman to test her boundaries and reactions. And, to be fair, Fareeha was easy to tease. She was a 32 year old woman who still fawned over her mother, and reacted to surprise with equal measures hilarious baffled expressions and expert jabs of her own. No matter how much Aleksandra exceeded Fareeha in the gym or on the battlefield, no matter how often she teased her, tripped her up, made her sputter and blush, there was an itch at the back of her head. She felt that itch whenever they were apart, and it drove her to spend more and more time with her. But the itch only got worse when they were together.

Fareeha was fun, and could keep up with her heroic pace, so what was bothering her? She was very familiar with wanting to sleep with someone. That much was easy. She had known at the very first sight of her soaring over the battlefield, calling out orders in that warm, passionate voice of hers. If teasing Fareeha came easy, wanting to share a bed with her was beyond effortless. More than once Aleksandra had caught herself staring at Fareeha’s hands as she unconsciously tapped her fingers while listening to music. Those moments were a welcome relief, because imagining the possibilities those fingers could bring was simple territory. But what of the strange pride she felt in being the only one who knew the way Fareeha would fidget like that in private? Why did she want to spend so much idle _time_ with her, even when they weren’t training, and clearly weren’t going to fuck any time soon?

As it turned out, two weeks was not enough time to fully unravel that knot. Aleksandra was glad to be getting back to their usual routine of working out, watching movies, and training until someone bled. And, as much as she loved her homeland, the thought of allowing herself to settle there to grow fat on her past achievements disgusted her. More than that, though, she realized that even as she spent time in the town she had grown up in, she felt _homesick_ of all things. The twisting in her stomach and the vague sadness in her heart that had plagued her for years whenever she saw snow falling outside of Russia struck her even as she sat in the synagogue she had attended as a child, listening to the Rabbi who had first taught her to read.

Between the comfort and confusion, she became sloppy in her fighting. In their final battle to keep Talon from accessing the remains of an old defunct Omnium, she failed to notice an enemy sniper moving around to flank her position and took a bullet to her left side, just under her breast. Luckily her body armor stopped the projectile, but several ribs were broken.

It was a rookie mistake that would be expected of a fresh-faced soldat too high on patriotic anthems to understand the chaos of the battlefield, not of an experienced war hero like her. She had heard the report of the rifle, had seen the tell-tale signs of the enemy maneuvering and laying down fire to distract them from the repositioning of the sniper. But she didn’t react, didn’t even think to pull up her shield until she was laid out on the ground. Every time she ran through the events in her head, she chastised herself for being so thick.

 Zenyatta offered to heal it after the battle, but she refused. It was her own mistake, and she would learn from the pain. The flight back was uncomfortable, but to go back on her word would be an unacceptable embarrassment after such a shameful display.

~

As the dropship landed at the Gibraltar Watchpoint and its main door lowered, Aleksandra couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Fareeha waiting on the landing pad there for her. To anyone else she probably looked as stoic as ever, but by now Aleksandra knew from the little signs—the empty mug at her feet, the leather coat slung over her shoulder—that she had probably been waiting for several hours. The thought tugged at her heart, and made her want to put Fareeha in a headlock for being such a sentimental nerd.  

The pair walked towards each other, eyes meeting across the landing pavement.

“Amari.”

“Aleksandra.”

As they came closer, an impulse seized Aleksandra, and she opened her arms for a hug. More than just seeing her and hearing her, she wanted to feel her warm, solid presence. But as Fareeha went in to reciprocate the hug, she had a look of reverence and wonder in her eyes that made Aleksandra want to put her in a headlock even more. Of course mommy’s girl would take every little touch and make it weird.  But even with this thought, they squeezed each other tightly as the rest of the fireteam exited the dropship and filed past, announcing how nice it was to finally be out of the cold.

They stayed like this for several long seconds, until finally Aleksandra began to release. Before pulling away, Fareeha gave one final, firmer squeeze that caused Aleksandra to hiss in pain and place a hand gingerly over her ribs. She had known it would hurt, but Fareeha’s hugs were worth any cost.

Fareeha grinned, but her brows knit in thinly concealed concern. “Geez Aleksandra, I thought you might get a little soft back home, but getting hurt within the first minute of getting back has got to be a new record.”

Aleksandra let out a low flat laugh, and punched Fareeha’s shoulder as they started walking into the facility. Fareeha laughed, before her face took on a nostalgic quality and she spoke up again,

“For real, though, as much as I love the rest of our team, it gets a little dull around here. I missed you, bro.”

As Fareeha looked earnestly up into her eyes, Aleksandra was struck with an idea. Doing her best to put on a serious expression, she stopped, and looked Fareeha square in the eye.

“Hold on, Amari. I am _not_ your ‘bro’,”

Fareeha’s earnest gaze quickly turned from nostalgia to panic, and Aleksandra knew that this was better than any headlock. She let the silence hang for one achingly slow moment before bursting into a toothy grin, and exclaiming,

“I’m your babe, babe!”

Fareeha froze in place for a second, until confusion and then relief visibly washed over her. Aleksandra roared with laughter, and clapped an arm over her shoulder as they walked into the Watchpoint.

~

The following morning as Aleksandra entered the Watchpoint gym’s locker room, she found Fareeha peeling off her tight compression shirt to change into a simple tank. With her back arched back and arms stretched overhead, every subtle swell of abdominal muscle was pulled taut, and the sharp angles of hipbones protruded like knives over the edge of her pants.

Aleksandra dragged her eyes up and down Fareeha’s body, savoring the sight. She was always attractive, but the languor with which she moved when she thought nobody was looking lit a fire in Aleksandra that always proved hard to extinguish. This time, however, something caught her eye. Fareeha’s ribs were showing, and her hipbones jutted out just a little more dramatically than usual. Aleksandra noted that she would have to remind her to eat.

“Babe,” called Aleksandra

Fareeha put her arms down, and raised her eyebrows.

“start over, this is my favorite part. I get to see what I’m working with.”

Fareeha snorted, and continued undressing before responding,

“Sorry Aleksandra, if you wanted a show, you should have shown up on time.”

With a smile and a grunt of concession, Aleksandra began to gingerly undress, working around the pain of her broken ribs. She waited until Fareeha had turned to enter the gym proper before quickly removing her shirt and slipping into a tank top. Her whole left flank had turned an alarming shade of purple, but she knew her body, and knew it would heal in its own time. Better that Fareeha not see the extent of it and start nagging.

That was the plan, at least. As soon as she joined Fareeha on the track for their warmup run, she began to speak up in that frustratingly protective tone of hers.

“So hey, what was up yesterday with that hug? Should you be working out? We can take a day off if you need to.”

“It is a small thing, nothing to concern yourself with.” Aleksandra replied glibly in between shallow breaths taken to avoid how much deep breathing hurt.

Fareeha nodded and was silent for a moment before pressing the issue further.

“You know, I bet that boob-plate of yours doesn’t exactly do you any favors. Seems like anything hitting it would just,” she punched a fist into one open palm, “ _pow_ right into the sternum.”

“It’s a reminder.” Grimaced Aleksandra. The short breaths were starting to get frustrating. And the queer way Fareeha was looking at her, it seemed like she wanted more of an explanation. Slowing down a little and trying her best to not look like she was short of breath, Aleksandra continued,

“The people, they love me. But with my size, some seem to ‘ _forget’_ I am a woman. I hope to remind them that I can crush them, and I am a woman. Both are true.”

Fareeha gave a low sardonic laugh, “That makes sense. I never thought about it that way. For me, I was glad my suit obscures my gender. You were in the military, so you know how people treat the officer’s son, right?”

Aleksandra just chuckled and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying! My Mom’s a national hero so it was even worse. Any time someone recognized me, they just compared me to her. I was always just the little Amari shit trying to fill her mom’s boots, or I was expected to be her and more. But in the Raptora, for a little while I could just be Pharah. No need for gender or lineage.”

“I can see how that would be troublesome. But, still, your mother is _so cool_! Surely having such a powerful presence in your life is of some use?”

At this, Fareeha immediately grinned broadly, but it faded quickly as she spoke. “She is! And yes, it is. I’m always so proud of her. But even she does this to me sometimes. Have you seen that picture of me she’s always carrying around?”

She had. Everybody had. Ana showed it to everyone at any chance she got. At first Aleksandra had thought that she simply shared her predilection towards teasing Fareeha, until she caught her catching soft glances at the picture during quiet moments on the field. Fareeha continued,

“It’s like I’ll always be twelve years old in her mind.” She snorted derisively and looked away, “Maybe she just has trouble reconciling that sweet kid with the surly rocket-jock I turned into.”

As they came to the end of their lap, Aleksandra put a hand on Fareeha’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Whenever she revealed something personal like this to her, she never knew exactly how to respond. After taking a few gulps of water, a goofy expression crept onto Fareeha’s face.

“You know, actually, the only one who never treated me that way was Angela.”

Aleksandra froze. She had never seen this expression of Fareeha’s face before, and it sparked something painful in her to see it as she spoke of another woman.

“Even when I was just some officer’s kid who barely spoke any English or German, she treated me like an adult. Everybody else defined me against my mother, but she saw me for myself. Every chance I got I’d hide out in the corner of the medical bay. Occasionally we’d talk, or I’d watch her work, but mostly I just wanted to be near her. I still try to, but it’s harder now that I have a real job here.” 

If it had been any other topic, Aleksandra would have found the faces and fidgeting motions that Fareeha was making adorable. But to see her talking this way about another woman made her chest feel tight, and like she’s too hot and too cold all at once. This was a feeling that no amount of friendly digs and headlocks would be able to shake. She wasn’t sure if it was this or her broken ribs, but she couldn’t get a full breath in

“You know what I’m thinking, Amari?” she announced suddenly, interrupting some mushy thing Fareeha was in the middle of saying about her childhood crush.

“Do tell, Aleksandra.” Fareeha replied, a curious expression quickly replacing the lovestruck one that had been plastered on her face for the last few minutes.

“I’m thinking it’s time to step it up. Today will be your first real leg day.”

~

“Hope you brought some tape, Aleksandra, because these legs are getting _ripped_.” Grunted Fareeha as she panted through another grueling rep of leg extensions. Aleksandra chuckled as she increased the weight on the machine.

“Yeah, keep it up Amari! Pretty soon you’ll be almost as strong as I was when I was fourteen.”

Leg day was always a recipe for burning soreness, but, driven by the need to distract herself from unpleasant thoughts that listening to Fareeha had brought on, Aleksandra pushed them harder than she ever had previously. It was a simple method of torture, but an effective one: leg presses, hack squats, and leg curls, each starting at maximum weight and done until the point of near exhaustion. Then the weight would be dropped a small amount, and each would be done until exhaustion again. This pattern would repeat a dozen or more times. After twenty minutes Aleksandra could barely remember her own name, letalone the jealousy that had stung her so sharply.

As the pair finished their final sets, they each got unsteadily to their feet, leaning against each other as they headed out to the hallway. It went between them without saying that neither wanted to go through the trouble of getting undressed again.

“I have to say Amari, you’re making some real progress.”

“Oh, yeah?” Replied Fareeha, with a glint of pride in her eyes. Aleksandra smiled, “Definitely. You’re getting to be such a good arm rest.”

Fareeha snorted, and let her shoulder sag, causing Aleksandra to stumble without the support. Both laughed, before comfortably leaning into each other again and heading into the kitchen. There were signs that the others had come and gone for breakfast—dirty plates in the washer, a cooling half-full pot of coffee—but for now they were alone.

“I’ll be honest,” said Fareeha, “most of what made that worth it is knowing that for once you were in as much pain as me.”

“That can be rectified, if you like.” Said Aleksandra, as she leaned carefully against one counter, pawing through the cupboards. When she turned around, the sight that greeted her rooted her to the spot and sucked the air from her lungs.

Fareeha was holding a peach delicately in one hand, staring at it almost reverently as she took a slow bite out of it. Her eyes closed, her body sagged slightly, and she let out a low, throaty groan as she chewed. Aleksandra had never heard Fareeha make such a raw sound of pleasure before, but it sent a bolt of electricity from the base of her spine right down to her core. Fareeha probed at the exposed flesh of the peach with her tongue, gingerly exploring the opening she had made to lap up the sweet, sticky juice before taking another mouthful. She finished the fruit with ravenous drags of her tongue up her forearm and suckles on the fingers that had been holding it.

As Fareeha noticed Aleksandra staring, her cheeks darkened and she tore her fingers away from her mouth.

“I, um… Was really craving fruit.” She mumbled sheepishly as she tossed the pit in the compost bin.

Aleksandra swallowed thickly, doing her best to remember her own name after that thoroughly erotic display. Staring dumbly down at the bag of oats she had been holding the whole time, and then looking back at her friend, she remembered just how skinny she had looked as she was undressing.

“No, no, you’re fine,” she lied, “I was just thinking that you need something with bulk, with protein. Despite our working out you are still so skinny, Fareeha! You won’t get stronger if you don’t eat.” Scrambling to give herself something to do with her mind and her hands other than lingering on thoughts of Fareeha’s mouth, she set the oats down and began to reach back up into the cabinets. “To celebrate being home, I will make us knishes. This will put some meat on your bones.”

But her heart was pounding and it made her shaky as she reached over the counter for the flour, and she accidentally bumped her ribs right into the corner of the countertop. The sharp pain caused her to fall to one knee and cry out a curse in her mother tongue. As she opened her eyes, Fareeha was standing over her, concern darkening her face.

“It is fine, just a little bump. Do not worry,” Aleksandra tried to reassure her. But without a word, Fareeha grabbed the hem of her tank top and yanked it upwards to get a look at her wounded side. She had occasionally fantasized about Fareeha taking the initiative and tearing her clothes off, but not like this. There was fury in Fareeha’s usually kind eyes as she looked at the enormous black bruise staining Aleksandra’s left flank.

“This,” she growled, “is. Not. Small.” The voice that spoke was not that of Fareeha, her friend, but of Captain Amari, giving orders to a subordinate acting out of line. Usually Aleksandra would be furious to be talked down to like this, but, credit to Fareeha, she knew how to be a commanding presence.

Fareeha released the shirt, and took a deep breath, the momentary anger draining from her expression. “I’m sorry Aleksandra, that was out of line. You should really go talk to Angela about getting that fixed.”

“It is my own mistake, and I will live with it. It builds resolve, to face consequences.” Said Aleksandra.

Without warning, Fareeha delivered a sharp punch to her breast. Aleksandra shouted in pain, clutching the tender flesh, looking up at Fareeha in confusion and anger.

“Did that make you stronger, huh?” Challenged Fareeha, “Sometimes pain is just pain. There’s nothing noble about it. You know what happened, and you will fix it. And even you do get hurt again, you have a team to help you.” Her voice softened as she spoke, and she looked directly into Aleksandra’s eyes, “you have me to help you.”

At the last comment, Aleksandra deflated slightly, averting her eyes to stare guiltily at the kitchen tiles.

“Okay. I will seek help.” Muttered Aleksandra

Fareeha smiled, and offered her hand to help Aleksandra up from the ground.

As they leaned back on each other to walk towards the medical bay Aleksandra asked, “Can I see your mom, though? She seems cooler than Angela.”

Fareeha laughed aloud and looked at Aleksandra incredulously. “If the way she treated my scraped knees as a kid is any indication, the only medicine she knows how to administer comes from the barrel of a gun. Besides, I think she’d only enable your masochism. What’s wrong with Angela, anyway?”

Aleksandra couldn’t very well say, ‘ _oh, I’m just jealous of her for confusing reasons, no big deal’_ , so she relented. “She just seems uptight. I don’t need another lecture… But I will go.”

“Mm, a lot of people think that, but she’s a sweet lady, I promise. And if she does lecture you let me know and I’ll give her a talking to.” Fareeha winked as they came to the infirmary door. The gesture was probably meant to raise her spirit, but the familiarity it implied between Fareeha and Angela just made Aleksandra’s heart sink. Fareeha turned to leave when the door to the clinic opened, and as she walked down the hall she cried out behind her, “I’ll be in my room if you need me to kiss your bruised ego better afterwards!”

~

True to Fareeha’s word, Angela took the wound in good humor.

“It’s not unusual for soldiers to hide from me, you know.” She said as she applied the warm healing light of her medical technology. “When we first joined, Jesse managed to cut off a finger during training. I found him in his room trying to reattach it with a sewing needle!” she laughed brightly at the memory, and Aleksandra couldn’t help but smile a little herself. Even if the image was gruesome, the woman’s mirth was infectious. 

“Aleksandra, I’ve actually been meaning to thank you.”

The comment baffled her. She had barely interacted with Angela outside of medical necessities or battlefield operations. Before she could ask, Angela clarified, “I mean for being such a good friend to Fareeha. I’ve known her for a very long time, and I’ve never seen her as happy and at ease as when she’s with you.”

Aleksandra blinked, at a loss for words. Angela put a hand softly on her shoulder, “It makes me glad to know she is in good hands. Even the best soldiers need someone to lean on.”

The pit that Aleksandra had felt earlier began to close, and, whether for her healed ribs or from the simple vote of confidence, she could feel herself take her first real breath in days. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this as a way to get extra practice in while writing Overwatch: Campaign mode. Also just need a place to share my filthy sinful thoughts.
> 
> Sapphixxx.tumblr.com


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